


The Push and Pull of What Could Be

by grumpyphoenix



Category: The Goonies (1985)
Genre: M/M, Mentions of past homophobia, Not Beta Read, everyone has just turned 18, mentions of past parental crappiness and possible pray the gay away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 16:37:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10495083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumpyphoenix/pseuds/grumpyphoenix
Summary: Data brings Mike on a summertime paintball excursion to spend some time with him before they go off to college, but he has a surprise for his old friend that might just change his life.Written for March's fandomwritingchallenge on tumblr





	

**Author's Note:**

> I had an idea, and this seemed like a great precursor to it. The challenge was "paintball".

“I don’t understand why we’re doing this.” Mike shifts the pack on his back irritably, and keeps walking….no, _trudging_ … after Data. 

Data just grins and wiggles his eyebrows. He shoulders the pack effortlessly, picking his way through the forest with annoying ease. As the years rolled by, he had become lithe and athletic, handsome with an easy smile. Mike always tried not to ogle him too overtly, but he knew that Data had caught him at it a few times. Mike on the other hand…well, he’d stayed short, and his rail thin body had filled out. He had started working out in secret soon after Brand had left for college, and then just dropped the secrecy. He had muscles, but compared to Data, he was a troll. No one was ogling him, overtly or not. No one had been interested in him ever since…well, not for a while. 

Data calls out, “I hear them up ahead, wait here!” and slips through some trees. 

Mike sits on a log to wait and sweat. Late August was hot this year, turning every day into a festival of stickiness. Gloomily, and not for the first time, he wonders what he is going to do without Data when he leaves for MIT in about a month. Mike is going to miss him. They were the only goonies left. Chunk and his family had moved away almost immediately after finding the treasure and the girls had gone to college the same time as Brand. Briefly, he thought about Clark, and then clamped down on it with a clenched jaw. 

Going to MIT had always been Data’s dream, and Mike wanted that for him. Maybe he should figure out what he was going to do with the rest of his own life. Maybe it was time to stop brooding and leave. 

Data’s voice in his ear makes him jump. “Stop daydreaming, Mikey, we have places to be.” 

Mike scowls, but follows his friend through some more woods and into a clearing. He groans aloud at the sight waiting for him. “Data, paintball, really?” 

Data laughs. “It’s the last few weeks, Mikey. You’re gonna have a good time. Plus, I have a surprise.” 

Data pulls Mike through the groups of teenagers getting ready, strapping armbands on, getting paintball guns and organizing into teams. Data hands Mike a matching orange armband and pushes him into a group of others putting on orange bands. Irritably, Mike grumbles something about bossy friends, looking around at his new teammates. Through the general milling around, Mike sees the table with the paintball guns, so he heads over, reaching for one at the same time as someone else is grabbing it. 

He turns with an apology ready on his lips, but instead his heart lurches and he swears, “Oh, holy fuck.” 

The boy who takes the gun smirks. He’s even shorter than Mike and slim, his hair cut so that a mop of curls falls into his eyes. His left ear is shiny with several earrings. He’s dressed for this event with an insouciant flare; an ostentatious red bandana and camouflage. 

Mike licks his lips, blood thundering in his ears, and a pair of warm brown eyes tracks it. His voice is hoarse, and he can’t control its pitch, “Clark.” 

Mouth smiles at him lazily. “You don’t get to call me that. Mouth will be fine. Interesting to see you here, Mikey.” 

Mike scowls, and shakes his head to clear it. “Mouth, what the hell?” 

Mouth shrugs a little. “Well, I’m at the end of my community service, and we were ordered to do this as a ‘team building exercise’. I think they are hoping I’ll join the army and become a real man. I turned 18 a month ago, so I guess it’s the last time they can treat me like a kid.” 

Mike opens his mouth angrily to make him knock it off; to make him explain himself, but there’s a woman holding a megaphone explaining the rules in a voice so loud that it drowns everything else out. Defend the flag, capture other flags, winning team has the most flags. They’re ordered to spread out into their starting zones before the air horn starts the game. Mike looks around for Data vainly during the pandemonium, but cannot find him anywhere. Swept up in the enthusiastic crowd, he heads into the woods. 

About a half an hour into the game, Mike is lost and irritable. He finds a shady spot hidden by a huge rock, and settles on the ground with his back against it. He takes his shirt off, pouring cool water over the back of his neck and down his chest, gasping at the temperature change. 

Mouth drops down heavily next to him with a sotto voce wolf whistle. “Nice distraction tactic, Mikey. You do that, and I’ll sneak up on them.” 

Mike rolls his eyes. “Can it with the Mikey crap, I’m not 12 anymore.” 

“You let Data call you Mikey.” 

Mike eyes him, “Data isn’t an obnoxious shit, Clark.” 

Mouth just grins at him. The officials made him take his bandana off so he wouldn’t be confused with the red team, and his hair has fallen into his face. Sweat has made the ends curl and stick to his neck and face. He rests his head back against the rock with his eyes closed, quietly breathing. Mike watches him for a minute, and then frowns. 

“Clark….” 

Eyes closed, he irritably interrupts, “Mouth.” 

Mike sighs, “ _Mouth_. You don’t have water with you, do you?” 

Mouth huffs out a laugh, and rocks his head from side to side against the rock. Mike pokes him with the water bottle until he ta cracks an eye open and then takes it. As he is gulping water, Mike rummages through his pack and brings out two apples, passing one over in exchange for the bottle. 

“Mouth,” Mike starts, and then falters into silence, falling back on taking a huge bite of his apple. If his mouth is full, he doesn’t have to talk. 

Mouth snorts. “I’ve been fine, Mikey, thanks for asking. Not that you bothered to check.” 

Mike swallows hard. “I…I didn’t….” 

Mouth turns his untouched apple around in his hand. “I know. And I don’t suppose I should be surprised. I mean, your parents were cool, but there’s only so much leeway they were going to give. If I’d been a thief or a bad influence, sure, fine. But, a thief, a bad influence and a faggot… well.” 

Mike winces. “That’s…that’s not. They didn’t think…” 

Mouth chuckles bitterly. “Yes they did, Mike. See, you were a perfect nerdy little angel. Weird friends, sure, but you had a lot of them, and you were clearly a leader. Then when you turned into a Brand clone, they were expecting cheerleaders. Finding you wrapped around me with my tongue in your mouth was never on the agenda. I’m the asshole in the group, I’m always the one next to you when the principal calls. It’s my fault.” 

Mike reaches out and touches Mouth on the shoulder. “What your parents did to you…I tried to find you, but they wouldn’t open the door, they wouldn’t talk to me.” 

Mouth looks as if he is about to respond, but then pauses, going very still. Tossing the apple back to Mike, he rolls to his feet and creeps around the rock. A second later, he pops back, holding up two fingers and pointing on the other side of the rock. Mike nods, and gets to his own feet, picking up his gun. He and Mike go around either side of the rock, surprising two of the green team with bright splatters of paint. They wander off towards the base camp, grumbling and wiping paint off their faces. 

Mouth motions for Mike to follow him, heading down the trail in the direction the other two had come from, looking intently down at the ground. Mike can’t help but smile to himself as he watches Mouth do this; he was always the one surprisingly into the whole nature thing. He and his uncle would go on long hunting trips together before everything went to shit. He would always come back with stories about tracking deer and whatever through the woods, his eyes bright and happy. 

The sky starts to turn dark alarmingly fast, followed by an intense and sudden rainstorm. Cheering and delighted whoops of laughter close by have Mouth pulling Mike into some pine trees on the side of a hill. They sneak, crawling on their stomachs under the branches until Mike can see the green team’s base with its flag and a few folks left behind to defend it, the trees around it covered in paint splatters. They’ve found a few large rocks and some scrub brush to crouch behind, but right now they’re dancing in the rain, enjoying the break from the unending heat. 

Mike turns to whisper to Mouth, but starts sliding on the slick grass under him, and then can’t gain purchase to stop, sliding down till the grass becomes mud. The mud is even worse, and he just helplessly tumbles and slips all the way down the hill into a small thicket of bushes. By the time Mouth gets to him, he is giggling uncontrollably, lying on his back in a great pile of mud. 

Mouth sits next to him, looking down with a smirk. “Nice moves there, Mikey.” 

Mike just bursts out into more laughter, grabbing a clod of mud and lobbing it into Mouth’s face. He blinks in surprise for a second, and then with a huge grin, does the same. The two of them fling mud, then start pushing, then grab each other and wrestle for a minute, gasping with laughter. 

As the laughter finally dies down, Mike finds himself underneath Mouth, looking up into his eyes. He can see Mouth already trying to pull away, so he wraps his legs around him and flips them so he is on top. 

He murmurs, “They can’t keep us apart any more, Clark.” 

Mouth lets out a half sob, stubbornly looking away and trying to squirm out from under him. Mike pins him down easily and captures his lips in a soft kiss. He whispers, “Kiss me, Clark.” 

Mouth pushes against him ineffectually, but Mike keeps him pinned, leaning down to kiss up his neck and then his jaw. Mouth squirms, gasping out Mike’s name softly. Smiling, Mike starts nipping at Mouth’s earlobe, slowly breathing a hot breath against the flesh. 

He can feel how hard Mouth is, tensed beneath him, and he gently rocks his hips down against it, rewarded with a long groan. He whispers, “I want to kiss you, Clark. I’ve missed you, I need you. Please kiss me.” 

Mouth breaks, grabbing Mike’s hair and manhandling him into a rough and desperate kiss. Wrapping one leg around Mike’s waist, he grinds up against him urgently. Mike hikes Mouth’s other leg up around him roughly and thrusts against him, growling possessively into the kiss. 

Mike isn’t sure how long they’ve been doing this. It is timeless, wonderful, like being allowed to breathe again. He never wants to stop. Someone nearby though, is trying to get his attention, calling his name in an increasingly insistent and annoying way. Ignoring the sounds of protest from beneath him, he raises his head and looks around. Data is leaning against a tree, his wet hair plastered against his head, with a huge uncomfortable grin on his face. 

Data says, “You know, there’s like, five guys just over that hill that would love to shoot you right now. Hi, Mouth.” 

Mouth blinks, and cranes his head around, his face turning scarlet instantly. “Oh, hey, Data. Um.” He squirms, pushing urgently at Mike, who seems to be unable to filter anything quickly right now. He sits up slowly, watching Data with a careful eye. Knowing your friend likes dick is one thing, but seeing him aggressively go for it is something else. Data, though, seems preoccupied with other things, darting quick looks up the hill. 

That’s right, there is still a game going on around them. “Clark. How good would it look on your paperwork if you took a flag?” 

Data raises an eyebrow mouthing, ‘Clark?’ and Mouth shoots him a death glare. 

“It would look great,” Mouth answers, “I mean, it would show that I was into community spirit or whatever. They’re looking for anything they can to show that I’m not going to turn into a career criminal.” 

Mike nods grimly. “Good. Then let’s take this one.” He stands up and attempts to adjust his clothing, but the muddy sodden stuff simply clings. Data grins and looks between them. 

“Have Mikey tell you about the pearls in the desert some time, Mouth,” Data says with a glint in his eye. Mike gives him a desperate glare as he stalks around looking for their scattered belongings. 

Mouth watches Mike silently, his brown eyes unreadable. 

Together they come up with a plan, and it makes Mike giddy. Data sneaks around the back of the base and plants a bunch of small noisemakers that he’s made, and is of course, carrying with him. When they detonate, Mike confuses things by firing paintball rounds from another direction, while Mouth and Data come up from the other side to shoot them. It works like a dream, the green team firing wildly into two directions at once and swearing loudly when Mouth goes overboard with the paintball gun. 

All three of them walk in companionable but exhausted silence to the starting point to turn in the flag. There doesn’t seem to be an ounce of energy left in Mike. Even when the rain stops and the sun starts to shine again with the same horrid ferocity as before, he can’t seem to find anything in him that can complain. Not until the sun starts drying the mud on his face and in his hair, that is. They sit on the ground in a small circle of three, identical tired grins on their faces. 

“So, what is this about pearls in a desert?” Mouth asks, finally eating that apple in huge, noisy bites. 

Mike laughs, “It’s stupid, just one of those stories dad told me.” 

Mouth smirks, and punches him in the shoulder lightly, “Well, your dad tells you the truth. Spill it.” 

“Well, in a desert in California, there is a wrecked ship, loaded with pearls. Don’t ask me how it got there…there was some story about a tidal wave in 1612. Some people have claimed to see it, and at least one person has returned with pearls, but no one can find it again. Data here thinks I should….” Mike trails off with a shy shrug. 

Mouth’s grin gets wider. “He thinks you should find it.” 

Data adds, “I think he should find it soon. He made no plans for after high school, Mouth. After you…” he pauses uncomfortably. 

“After I disappeared and then was arrested,” Mouth says bitterly. 

“Y…yes. After that, he just stopped giving a shit. I mean, except for researching treasure. So, I keep telling him to go. Find another one. Have another adventure.” Data shrugs at Mike apologetically. 

Mike rubs his hands over his face, suddenly deeply tired and overwhelmed, jamming the heels of his hands into his eyes so hard that light explodes behind his eyelids. A light touch on his shoulder makes him drop his hands and look around. Mouth leans over and kisses him lightly on the lips, ignoring the muttering and gasping from everyone else who has filtered into the area. 

“I think,” Mouth says, “That you and I should go to California and research this thing. Together.” 

Mike looks into his eyes steadily. “Do you mean that? After everything that happened?” 

Mouth nods, leaning against him. “I do. I mean, I don’t know if we’ll make it longer than a week, but I have to get out of this town, and you need to follow a dream. That’s who you are. Let’s follow one and see what happens.” 

Mike smiles and wraps an arm around Mouth, looking forward to the future for the first time in years.


End file.
